words – sounds – images

From The Viking and The Moor

The sun had nearly risen by the time The Moor reached the deadfall. She had been forced to stop several times on her journey back. As badly as she had wanted to run the whole way, she simply couldn’t. The frigid air burned her lungs, and breathing became a constant agony. She would momentarily collapse against the trunk of a tree, catch her breath, and then continue on her way. She pushed herself as fast as she could. The deadfall had been completely dismantled, branch by branch, log by log. The children were gone. It didn’t appear that they had…

The Moor shuffled through the snow. Her braids were stiff and frozen. She carried a wooden basket in the crook of her arm. She had begun the evening foraging for dried winterberries but had gotten distracted tracking a hare. She’d lost the hare after a couple of miles, only then realizing that she had wandered far outside her normal foraging territory. She was usually extremely careful in her travels. The children hadn’t wanted her to go at all. They had been restless and fussy. But she’d reminded them of their empty bellies. They were asleep soon after. She hadn’t slept…